


Exhibitionism at High Noon

by theangrywarlock



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Combeferre topping the hell out of Enjolras, Exhibitionism, M/M, Smut, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangrywarlock/pseuds/theangrywarlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exhibitionist Combeferre having sex with Enjolras in the corner of the Musain.  While the others are there. This was supposed to be a meeting. Seriously, what else do you need to know? Pretty much PwP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhibitionism at High Noon

"Hush, hush, be still!"

Combeferre wasn't normally so sharp, but Enjolras wasn't normally so frantic. Much of this was Combeferre's own fault, after at least several months of indulging in their every whim, Combeferre had ceased nearly all activities having to do with sex for a good three weeks. He would touch Enjolras here and there, stroke him just enough to make him aroused, and then he would let it go. It was a cruel treatment but a necessary one to build up for what he had been wanting for awhile now.

He could hardly blame Enjolras for rubbing against his leg like a bitch in heat, so desperate to climax this time, and that inflamed his own passions. Enjolras, needy, lost to his desires that were solely for Combeferre. This was a heady feeling for anyone, and Combeferre could get aroused from just the constant layering of kisses Enjolras planted upon his face, neck, and collarbones when he could move Combeferre's cravat away.

Combeferre finally had to take both of Enjolras' hands in his own.

"Stop."

He could never get used to the pleading look in Enjolras' eyes. It would be so easy to indulge him, to just push Enjolras back into a hidden spot and have at him. They both wanted it, and Enjolras had been silently begging for Combeferre to finish him off, and yet there was also that small darker idea that Combeferre knew was festering in Enjolras' mind. It wasn't quite doubt, but a niggling thought that maybe Combeferre was tired of him.

Perhaps he was alone in his need.

Combeferre had been keeping that thought at bay, verbally so when the physical couldn't be employed anymore. He kept up their usual conversations, worked hard to ensure that he didn't seem bored of Enjolras, that Enjolras understood just how deep in Combeferre's affections he remained.

So why the constant denial?

Enjolras was uncertain. Combeferre was far too sure. It would be easier, he knew, to tell Enjolras the truth of the matter. To let him decide for himself if he would indulge Combeferre, but there was the possibility he'd say no, slim though it was. There was also the chance that Combeferre would feel terribly ashamed if Enjolras said no. Or if Enjolras looked at him in another way. While Combeferre could never see his friend as either dismissive or judging, he also knew that Enjolras was capable of being so as any human could be, and he could not take that chance.

He needed a partner. One who would sink into the depths with him as well as soaring to new heights. Enjolras had always been the one he had always envisioned for such a role, and his eyes darkened with a lust as he thought about what was to happen.

To do so, he had to steady himself. Refocus on his task. Pull away from those eyes that gripped his soul and made him want to doubt his course.

"Sit with me. They'll be here soon," he said while pulling away from Enjolras.

Enjolras moved to grab at Combeferre's shoulder but paused himself midway. It wouldn't do to ask, though the questions were right on the tip of his tongue. The trust he had in Combeferre was a near absolute, and he would have to wait out this strange time for just a bit longer. Still, his patience was being pecked at gradually, and he longed for answers.

Combeferre felt relieved when Enjolras joined him at the table. This time, he sat next to his friend rather than across from him and handed him a newspaper.

"You'll be needing that."

Enjolras' confusion was apparent and Combeferre felt a stab of worry and a new thrill racing up his spine. Enjolras wasn't normally expressive, but he did tend to be quite honest. It would be so easy for someone to figure out what might be going on by looking at him. Would they be found? Combeferre wasn't sure if he wanted them to be or not.

"This is several days old," Enjolras stated.

"It doesn't matter. It's only a prop. Nothing less. It's for when you feel you need it."

Enjolras sighed and again looked as though he would say something. He was stopped by the arrival of their friends.

The conversations buzzed around them, Combeferre only half-listening to them all, so distracted as he was by his plan. He gave a headcount. Only the lieutenants this time around. He had timed it all well. While a larger audience could be more spectacular to his needs, it wouldn't do to alienate any of the newcomers. The lieutenants could be trusted with far more than just the Republic.

Only after half an hour had passed and the others seemed settled into their respective areas did Combeferre reach out a hand to stroke Enjolras above his pants.

Enjolras had just put down his cup of coffee. Good thing as well since he was immediately startled by the contact. Darting a questioning look at Combeferre and receiving nothing but a smirk in reply, he was left at a loss. Yet he didn't try to move Combeferre's hand away. That was what Combeferre had been dreading, and he took Enjolras' lack of a defensive response as assent.

He rubbed him faster, harder, and when Enjolras gripped the table, keeping his head bowed so that his hair shielded his face from the looks of others, Combeferre undid Enjolras' pants and slipped his hand inside of them.

Pale fingers clutched at the newspaper in front of him. Enjolras didn't hold it up to shield his face, however. His fingers merely crinkled the thin papers, gripping them tighter and tighter. Combeferre had kept him deprived and on the edge for far too long, and the feeling of Combeferre's hand wrapped around his erection was almost too much. For too long, Combeferre had touched him like this over his clothes, doing it often enough that there was almost chafing.

"Don't stroke yourself," Combeferre had told him, and Enjolras, though tempted many many times, obeyed. He obeyed out of trust, though that trust sometimes came at a painful, uncomfortable price. Smooth contact with his body, the feel and weight of Combeferre's hand, the need for some sort of pleasure and relief was almost too much to bear. He could have wept out of frustration, but instead he gasped as he finally came, and the orgasm was almost enough to black him out.

Combeferre frowned. He had achieved the desired effect on Enjolras, certainly, but this wasn't enough for him. He didn't have to look at the others to know their reactions, even though he heard Courfeyrac glance over from across the room.

"Enjolras?" He asked.

He had heard the gasp, Combeferre knew, but that didn't matter. Not while he was still achingly hard. Not while Enjolras' breathing was coming in at such a rapid pace. This was only half the battle, and he needed to show Enjolras the full extent of his own perversions.

Before Courfeyrac could reach them, Combeferre had grabbed ahold of Enjolras shoulders. Clutching his friend in a tight embrace, he pushed them both to the floor, knocking over their chairs. He had to be fast in his work, but how many times had he practiced this? Unclothing himself quickly in his own room, keeping a running tally of minutes, of seconds. Combeferre was not one to do anything half-assed, and if he wanted perfection, he would have to seek it out himself.

His jacket was tossed aside, his pants were undone, and a bottle of oil came out of his pocket. Enjolras, a bit dazed from both the sudden movement and orgasm that would have brought him to his knees if he hadn't been sitting, was unprotesting as Combeferre deprived him of his pants, sliding them down almost at the same time as he undid his own. The sudden coldness against his bits shook Enjolras out of his daze.

"Combeferre, what-"

And then Combeferre was inside of him, having used the oil not as liberally as usual, but making up for that by applying it before every inch of himself slid into Enjolras. Still, nothing could prevent the sudden cry Enjolras let out, a mix of pain, surprise, and need.

Combeferre was glad of it. In his mind, he could picture the others. Their shock, their stares. He had shared tales with these men, knew them quite well. Some would look at such a scene with arousal, others may cheer him on in their heads. Yet, deep down, he hoped that one or two of them would be disgusted by such actions. He couldn't understand why himself. He claimed Enjolras here, on this slightly filthy floor, taking him, no, fucking him hard against the floorboards.

Some primitive part of his mind yelled that he was claiming his prize in front of them all. In front of those who Enjolras was closest to. In front of any who would seek to have him for their own.

Another part of Combeferre felt ecstatic that Enjolras wasn't bucking him off or pushing him away. That Enjolras was both starved for this sort of affection, this feeling, and that he was enjoying it on the same plane as Combeferre. Combeferre, who had performed occasional acts of exhibitionism, and yet flew under the radar of the others, who kept himself hidden when he stroked himself via the use of tablecloths or newspapers or distractions from others. Combeferre who was hidden no longer.

Neither, for that matter, was Enjolras, who couldn't spread his legs as far as he may have wanted, but neither he nor Combeferre cared.

It was here that Combeferre's worries left him. Worries that included Enjolras saying no to this, depriving them both of such a show because he needed to command respect from the others. Enjolras who put so much stock into keeping the revolution pure.

It was because of that, that Combeferre hoped a few were watching and were almost disappointed in such a show. Their leader. Defiled and yet loving it. Debauched and yet begging for more. Degraded and yet his nails dug into the floor.

There was no sound of a door slamming. There were other sounds. Chairs being pushed aside, whispers, murmurings, all coherency of words was lost upon Combeferre who sought only deeper pleasures buried within Enjolras' body. Lastly there was the sound of their own rutting, of Combeferre pushing into Enjolras, of flesh slapping against flesh.

Enjolras came again and the look on his face brought Combeferre to his own climax. He pulled Enjolras to him, wanting the others to see the look of ecstasy on Enjolras, but he kept his own expression hidden.

He whispered into Enjolras' ear. "They can see you now."

With those words, Enjolras fell back down to earth and he buried his reddening face into Combeferre's shoulder. It was a reaction Combeferre expected and he smiled, knowing that Enjolras right now only had him as a shield. Whereas before when he would proudly show Enjolras off while fucking him, at this point he only wanted to keep him hidden from view.

He looked to Courfeyrac, whose expression he couldn't quite discern. "Let the others out, please," he asked. And at Courfeyrac's unwillingness to move, Combeferre nodded at Enjolras. "For his sake."

Only then did Courfeyrac set to clearing out the room, though he wasn't without his own hesitations.

Combeferre wondered if any would approach them later and risk speaking of his incident. He found that he didn't much care and looked forward to their embarrassment should they come about. Right now, he focused his ministrations upon Enjolras' body, cleaning him up, kissing him, and whispering, "You did well."


End file.
